A Moment of Clarity
by Liale
Summary: In a moment of clarity, Draco Malfoy realized that he and Harry Potter were very similar beings.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I obviously do not own Harry Potter. **

A scowl twisted thin lips and a pale hand tangled itself in white blond hair as Draco Malfoy paced in the boy's lavatory. Despite his calm, collected, arrogant persona at school, the return of the Dark Lord had thrown Draco's life into utter turmoil. He was a fifteen-year-old boy, for Merlin's sake! He didn't want to join a cult of dark wizards bent on the destruction of Muggle-borns and practically the entire wizarding world! He wanted to play Quidditch, and hate school, and date! But, no...that was never going to happen. Not for Draco Malfoy.

He whipped around as someone came bursting into the lavatory as if an angry Hippogriff was on their tail. He just barely caught sight of hideous glasses, unruly black hair, and flannel pajama pants in Gryffindor red before the figure dashed into a cubicle and the sounds of retching reached the blond's ears.

Potter. Of course. Just what he needed.

Draco leaned casually in the doorway of the cubicle, a sneer on his angular face. "Feeling a little queasy, Potter?" he asked.

Potter wiped the corner of his mouth on his sleeve. "What's it to you, Malfoy?" he replied, his tone biting. It was very obvious that Draco was the _last_ person he wanted to see. That, however, didn't deter the Slytherin one bit.

"Still have nightmares about your little boyfriend? About _Cedric Diggory_?" He said the name slowly, letting each syllable drip off his tongue like acid.

Potter glared, but Draco could see the lingering hurt and guilt behind the expression. The events of the Triwizard Tournament had done quite a number on the boy, and something in the back of Draco's mind prompted him to be worried, rather than insulting.

His smirk twitched, then fell.

"Oh, don't give me that look, Potter!" he said, plopping cross-legged onto the floor with a frustrated huff. "Yes, you're a bloody wonder boy and you have _so_ many problems, but sooner or later you're going to have to get over it and stop being such an arse, wallowing in your damn self-pity!"

"I am not wallowing in self-pity!" Potter shouted, cringing at the sound of his voice echoing off the cold stone walls. "I'm not..." he repeated, and this time his voice was hushed. He looked down at the floor.

"But you are," Draco said simply. Not polite, Merlin no, but not angry or bitter, either. "You're the bloody Golden Boy of Gryffindor and everybody loves you. Sure you're some 'chosen one' or something like that, but other people have bigger problems, Potty-wotter. Stop whining like some damn banshee."

Potter opened his mouth, as if he was going to respond, but Draco knew there was nothing he could say to that. He could see it in his eyes. He knew Draco was right, but he most certainly wasn't going to tell him that. He was far too proud.

He stood, wobbling a bit, and then strolled past Draco with an air of indifference. The Slytherin sat there on the floor of the lavatory until he could no longer hear his footsteps.

There he was again, the next morning, hunched over the porcelain throne. Draco was beginning to wonder if he wasn't actually ill.

"Back to puke your guts out again, wonder boy?"

"Shove off, Mal-" Potter began, but he couldn't finish his sentence. He started to dry-heave. Draco cringed in sympathy. He knew how much that hurt. Potter rested his forehead on the edge of the toilet seat, unconcerned about the myriad of diseases that thrived there. He coughed quietly.

Draco felt his smugness dissipate. This was wrong. Very wrong. For some strange reason, he absolutely _hated_ seeing Potter so...defeated. The Potter he knew was not constantly throwing up, made physically ill by mere nightmares. He wasn't broken or weak. Potter was meant to be strong and persistent, everlasting and courageous. That was practically the definition of _Potter_.

Then again...perhaps that was it. Maybe this wasn't Potter. This was _Harry_. Harry was just a fifteen-year-old boy...just like Draco. Harry didn't ask for all the fame, for the weight of the world to be placed on his shoulders. Harry was just a scared teenager who'd seen more horrors than any teenager should ever have to bear witness to.

In a moment of clarity, Draco Malfoy realized that he and Harry Potter were very similar beings.

"Go to the infirmary, Potter," Draco snapped, but Pot-Harry...Harry ignored him. Draco could almost feel the Gryffindor's stomach churning. His face paled and he puked, and he spent a few long moments panting before he finally settled.

"Shove off, Malfoy..." he growled, and Draco sighed. It was just no fun teasing someone who looked so positively _pathetic._

"Can't move?"

Harry looked at him, meek, but trying to keep up some semblance of their rivalry through a tired glare. "No..." he muttered at long last. "Too nauseous..."

Draco rolled his eyes and crouched down. "Get on my back..." he mumbled reluctantly. He didn't want to be nice to Harry, exactly, but he saw no problem in helping him to the infirmary. He wasn't complete scum, after all. "I'll carry you..."

There was a long moment of tense silence, then Draco felt Harry climb weakly onto his back. He looped his arms around the blond's neck, and Draco hooked his elbows under the boy's knees.

Draco deposited Harry in the infirmary ten minutes later, and left moments before Madame Pomfrey bustled in to tend to the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. He didn't return.

At least, not until the next day.


	2. Chapter 1

(A/N: A few of you asked for this story to be continued, so here it is! I'll try to update as much as possible!)

**Disclaimer: I obviously do not own Harry Potter. **

...

Harry was confused, to say the least. He remembered why he was in the infirmary, and he recalled who had brought him there, but he couldn't fathom why that certain someone was there in the morning, sitting by his bed, when he woke. He fumbled blindly for his glasses for a moment, until a pale hand passed them to him. Harry sat up, perching the frames on his nose. "Malfoy...?" he said.

Draco arched an aristocratic eyebrow. "Potter," he returned dryly.

Harry met his eyes with confusion. "Why are you here?" he asked.

Slytherin shoulders rose and fell in a casual shrug. "I had absolutely nothing better to do than be here to taunt you when you woke from your pathetic bout of illness."

Harry instantly soured. "Well, then you've had your fun. Now leave." He was infuriated by Draco's attitude. "Well? I'm waiting. Shove off."

Draco stood, gracefully, as always. "Fine, Potter," he said. He turned and went towards the door. For a moment, very, very brief, he seemed to hesitate. Then the moment passed, and he left.

Harry remained silent, looking at the chair Draco had just vacated. A feeling of loneliness took root in his heart. But why should he feel that way? He hated Draco Malfoy.

Madame Pomfrey soon bustled out, and after a brief inspection, cleared Harry to leave for breakfast.

...

"Harry, mate, you all righ'?" Ron spoke to his pensive friend through a mouthful of biscuit and jam. "I mean, you've been real quiet." A bit of jam dropped from his mouth and onto the table, and Hermione shot him a displeased look.

"Honestly, Ronald, don't speak with your mouth full!" she huffed. Then she turned to Harry, the emotion in her gaze switching instantly from irritation to concern. "But really, Harry, he has a point. You've hardly said a word all breakfast."

Ron made a show of chewing and swallowing his food, then nodded. "Yeah, and you never came back to the dorms last night, either, after you went running out of there."

Hermione's concern deepened at that. She hadn't known Harry had been, essentially, missing the night before. "Where were you, Harry?"

"Malfoy brought me to the infirmary," Harry said, absentmindedly staring in the general direction of the aforementioned blond. He had been similarly occupied for most of the morning, spurring his friends' interrogation.

"Malfoy?" Ron cried, immediately outraged. "What the blazes were you doing with _Malfoy_?"

"Ronald!" Hermione chided. "Calm down! I'm sure Harry has a perfectly reasonable explanation! Don't you, Harry?"

The combined, expectant gazes of his friends made Harry slouch a bit. He wanted to disappear and escape their judgment. "I had a nightmare, so I went to the bathroom. Malfoy saw me, you know, blowing chunks, and he picked me up and brought me to the hospital wing. It wasn't a big deal or anything."

Ron's scowl caused Harry to rethink his words. Maybe this was a bigger deal than he thought it was. "Are you lying?" the redhead said, a little too accusingly for Harry's liking. "You sure that git Malfoy isn't the one who put you in the infirmary in the first place?"

Harry glared back at Ron. "No, he wasn't, Ron. He _helped _me. How could you accuse me of lying? Maybe you're the git here, huh?" At some point, he had raised his voice, and was practically shouting. Color rose to his cheeks at the astonished looks coming from the surrounding Gryffindors, Ron and Hermione most especially. In a split second, he was up and dashing out of the Great Hall. He knew his friends wouldn't bother to follow him.

Steely gray-blue eyes tracked Harry Potter as he left. They drifted to the Gryffindor table for a moment, and observed Harry Potter's friends, making no move to go after him. Draco Malfoy stood calmly and strolled after the Boy-Who-Lived, blaming his curiosity for this obviously irrational move.

...

Draco found Harry sitting, hunched, on a rock by the Black Lake. The boy was staring vacantly at a small stone that he was levitating in front of him, his wand moving lazily to keep the object hovering. Gradually, Draco approached.

"Skipping classes, Potter?" he said. "Isn't that a bit irresponsible for Gryffindor's Golden Boy?"

Harry jumped in surprise, the stone thudding to the ground. Draco watched his chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath. "Don't call me that," he said. There was that weak, defeated tone that Draco hated so much. This particular Gryffindor was never supposed to sound defeated.

"And why not?" Draco asked scathingly. "I thought you just _loved_ being the center of attention. I mean, you're the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Well, you don't know me very well, Malfoy," Harry said, and then Draco realized it. This wasn't Potter, this was Harry. This was the vulnerable boy he'd seen curled over a toilet in the boy's lavatory, sick and hopeless and very alone. Draco felt a twinge of pity.

"Oh, I don't?" Draco said. His voice was still venomous. He couldn't bring himself not to be rude to Harry Potter, despite the misery he now saw in the boy. "I see the way you act. Arrogant, prancing around saving everyone like some idiotic hero. You have legions of fans that fawn at your heels, Potter. What's so bad about that? Why in the world don't you _love_ your title, Golden Boy?"

"Stop," Harry practically whispered. Draco took a step closer just to hear him. "I don't like the fame. I don't _want_ the fame." He laughed, a half-crazed, tired sound. "I don't even know what I did to deserve the fame. I can't understand why everyone loves me so much. I mean...I'm just a kid. They're putting too much faith in me. I'm going to let them all down."

Draco's mask of sarcastic stoicism was perfect. The alarm he felt at seeing this frightened, unhinged child lurking within the would-be savior of the wizarding world was kept well hidden. "Potter, what are you talking about?" he snarled. "You don't think you can defeat the Dark Lord? You've done it once already."

"I was a baby," Harry said quietly, pulling his legs to his chest and resting his chin on his knees. "And I didn't kill him. He came back. And my parents died for nothing."

Draco opened his mouth, expecting some scathing remark to instantly enter his mind. But he couldn't think of anything. These revelations about Harry Potter, the one who was supposed to be so strong, invincible, really, were at the least, shocking, at most, terrifying. "Have it your way, Potter," he finally drawled, sounding rather bored with the conversation. "Sit here and mope all you want."

Then he left, leaving Harry Potter sitting by the lake, alone with his morbid thoughts. Draco needed to speak to a certain person about the Golden Boy's welfare.

...

Severus Snape considered himself a very clever man. Not much happened at Hogwarts that escaped his notice. He prided himself on his extraordinary ability to detect any student out after hours, to make miscreants cower in fear before his impressive glare and stature. Nothing could puzzle, shock, or trouble Severus Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He was loathe to admit, then, that when his godson stayed after class to comment on the absence of the Potter boy, he was rather confused.

"I did, in fact, notice he was absent from my class, Draco," Severus said in his deep, velvety voice. He perched on the edge of his desk, looking down at the Malfoy heir. Draco looked tired, though Severus was sure he was the only one who wouldn't fail to notice it. Lucius was putting far too much pressure on his son. "House points will be deducted for his unexcused absence, and he will receive detention. What I cannot comprehend, however, is why you felt Potter's absence enough of a concern to bring to my attention."

Draco shifted his weight, the only nervous habit the well-bred boy possessed, and a very subtle one, at that. "I spoke with him today, Sev," he murmured. "He seemed...different."

Severus gave the boy a dry, uninterested look. "I'm afraid you'll have to elaborate, Draco."

"He left in the middle of breakfast," Draco explained. "It looked like he had a little falling out with Weasley. He was yelling at him, and the Granger girl. I was...curious, so I followed him."

At this, Severus raised an eyebrow. "You followed Potter?" he asked. "Are you quite sure _you_ are not the one acting differently?"

Draco shook his head. "Please, Sev, let me finish." At the stoic man's nod, the blond continued. "He went down to the lake, and he was just sitting there. I taunted him a touch, trying to get a reaction out of him. He told me he doesn't like his fame, Sev, and he wants everyone to stop being his fan because he believes he's going to let them down."

Severus snorted. "A ploy, of course," he said. "A bid for attention. Really, that wretched child cannot get enough of the lime light. Just like his pig of a father."

"Sev, I don't know if that's it..." Draco said, hesitant.

"Of course it is," Severus said briskly, dismissing the subject. He swept behind his desk and sat, pulling out a quill and a stack of papers that needed marking. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Draco, I have an abundance of work to complete before Mr. Potter's detention this evening."

Draco, defeated, released a weary sigh and left the room.

...

Harry knocked on Snape's door at five past eight. He wasn't at all happy about having a detention, but after skipping an entire day of classes, he'd really expected much more punishment. He could live with a single detention.

"Enter," called Snape's voice from within the Potion's classroom. Harry pushed the door open and walked inside. He approached the front of the room and stood silently in front of the man's desk, waiting for instructions. He knew the routine. Snape finished marking a paper with a terrible grade, then looked up. "You are five minutes late, Mr. Potter."

"I was eating dinner," Harry said. "Sir," he added at Snape's impatient look. He wanted this detention to go by as swiftly and uneventfully as possible. He was exhausted, and sleep was the only concept worthy of his time and effort at the moment.

"That is no excuse, Mr. Potter," Snape growled. "You had more than adequate time to eat dinner, and still remain punctual. Your tardiness, and your pathetic explanation for it, have earned you another detention tomorrow. Be sure you're here at the proper time."

"But that's not fair!" Harry exclaimed. "I really was just eating dinner!"

"Potter, may I remind you that you must address me as professor, or sir," Snape said, hatred coloring his tone. "I am rather fed up with your insolence."

"Insolence, _sir_?" Harry replied, and his sarcasm only served to infuriate Snape even more.

"Yes, Mr. Potter," he hissed, tone dangerously low. "Insolence. Not only did you fail to even make an appearance in my class today, or any other, for that matter, but you have been consistently dosing off during lessons, your homework is shoddy at best, and your concentration is severely lacking. All of your professors have expressed to Dumbledore what they label as their 'concern' for you, though on my part, I am honest, and express only my sheer _annoyance_. Are our classes no longer good enough for the Boy-Who-Lived, the Golden Boy of Gryffindor, the great _Harry Potter_?"

For a moment, Harry's emerald green eyes disappeared behind downcast lashes. After a moment, the gems flickered back up, filled with defiance. "Don't call me that," he said. "I'm not the Boy-Who-Lived, I'm not the Golden Boy. I'm Harry. I'm sick and tired of these expectations. You think I don't get it? I don't need your sarcasm to help me understand. I'm just fifteen years old. I can't beat the Dark Lord."

Snape scowled. "Spare me these melodramatics, Potter. There is a stack of cauldrons in the corner. Get to scrubbing, and don't expect to be using magic to clean them, either."

The boy's eyes flashed with anger, and the desire to speak out burned obviously in his expression. But he was silent, and he made his way to the sink. He shed his outer robe and rolled up his sleeves in preparation for scrubbing.

Severus watched him covertly from his desk as he pretended to grade papers. Initially, Potter's words had shocked him. They had seemed so genuinely hopeless. Then he had reminded himself that this was James Potter's son, and he was just as arrogant as his father. He was doing this for attention, nothing more. Yet, as he watched the boy vigorously scrubbing away at cauldrons-most with stains that would never truly come out-he noted with a critical, practiced eye the slouch of Potter's shoulders, the almost mechanical stiffness to each of his movements, the absolute hopelessness in the boy's posture.

Severus stored this information away for later use. Perhaps there was some validity to Draco's concern, though he still had no idea why Draco was so interested in the teenage angst of the Boy-Who-Lived. Shaking his head, thoroughly confused, Severus returned to his grading. He scowled at the abysmal work of his first years, and easily redirected his anger. He felt, for some reason, like leaving Harry Potter alone.

An hour later, Potter's head was very obviously drooping over the cauldrons, and every once and a while, his hands would stop moving for a few short moments. Then he would jerk back to awareness, and resume his scrubbing with a tired yawn.

Severus scowled. "Potter!" he snapped, and the Gryffindor jolted in surprise.

"Professor?" he responded, and even his _voice_ was tired, now.

"Why in Merlin's name are you falling asleep while scrubbing cauldrons? Is the work really so horrifically boring? Perhaps I could find something more interesting to occupy your time with?"

The boy shook his head, shaggy black hair bouncing in an innocent and infuriating manner. "No, sir...it's just getting late, and I'm tired."

"Late, Potter? It is merely nine o'clock. I believe that, to a teenager with no concept of a proper bed time, that is considered rather early." Severus set down his quill, eying the boy thoughtfully. "Do not expect me to excuse you from the remainder of your detention after you have given me such a pathetic lie, Mr. Potter."

Harry glared, furious, but obviously having little energy to spare for his hatred. "I'm tired, sir," he repeated. "I didn't ask you to excuse me. I just answered your question."

Severus laced his fingers together and peered at his student over the arch of his pale knuckles. "Have you not been sleeping properly, Mr. Potter?" he inquired. The raven stiffened at that, and Severus realized he'd hit close to the truth with those words. He continued along this vein of questioning, hoping to garner some real answers from the weary child.

Harry Potter was, after all, only a child, despite how mischievous and annoying he was. Sometimes, Severus tended to forget that, in favor of despising the boy.

"Now, answer me honestly, Potter," Severus said, his face as neutral as he could make it. It would do no good to scare the boy off. "Have you been sleeping properly? You may be lazy and arrogant, just like your father, but I am still your professor, and as such I cannot ignore a student's...unhealthy habits."

"I'm sleeping just fine, sir," Harry replied, his voice low, clearly suggesting dishonesty.

"Are you certain, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked, leveling the boy with an even stare.

Harry spoke through clenched teeth. "Absolutely, professor. And why do you care?" The boy turned back to his work, his scrubbing increasing in ferocity. Severus watched him for a moment before deciding to let the subject drop. The Gryffindor could exhaust himself all he wanted.

"Why do I care, indeed?" he mumbled under his breath, scratching the word 'horrific' onto the top of one of the first years' essays.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I obviously do not own Harry Potter. **

**...  
**

Time passed. All too much time for Draco, who continued to watch Harry Potter like a hawk. A hawk who was very confused as to why he was even bothering to watch the boy in the first place, but a hawk, nonetheless. He followed Potter's every move, day in and day out, from breakfast in the morning-where Potter barely touched his food-to dinner in the evening-where Potter _barely touched_ his food.

That seemed to be becoming a habit that Draco frequently observed. Potter hardly ingested enough food to sustain a bird, much less a teenage boy, one who surely shed plenty of calories gallivanting around the school and fighting the forces of darkness. On the rare occasion that Draco managed to catch Potter without his school robes on, he could clearly see the weight the Gryffindor had lost. His trousers were loose, and his shirts ill-fitting. Draco had never had the most filled-out frame himself, but he always made sure to maintain his health. As the heir to the Malfoy name, and the son of a Death Eater, it was expected. Potter, he noted, did _not _look healthy. He looked much, much too thin.

After a few weeks of pristine patience, Draco was fed up with Potter's self-destructive refusal to eat. As the boy was leaving the Great Hall after lunch, Draco followed him, armed with a slice of bread and cheese, and an apple, all wrapped in a napkin and tucked into the folds of his robes. He followed the raven to the edge of the lake. Odd, considering Draco knew he had Transfiguration in less than ten minutes' time.

Harry Potter made himself a veritable living statue, sitting on the same rock Draco had found him perched upon weeks before, every muscle in his body as tense and still as the mirror-like surface of the Black Lake. The Malfoy heir approached his prey silently. He took up a stance of confidence and conceit, shifting his weight to one foot and crossing his arms. A familiar sneer played at his lips.

"So, Potter," he drawled, and found immense satisfaction in the way the boy jolted in shock at his voice. "I do apologize in advance for any self-deprecating and/or humbling thoughts you may have been having, because we all know very well how much I love seeing you miserable. However, I thought you might want these." He produced the food from his robes and stepped up beside the boy, holding the little bundle out to him.

Potter took the napkin and unfolded it. He stared at the bread and cheese as if they were alien substances, and the apple as if it were as appetizing as Polyjuice Potion. "What's this?" he asked simply.

Draco eyed him with mild curiosity. "Food, Potter. Surely you aren't _that_ blind?"

The Gryffindor scowled at him, which was much closer to the reaction Draco was accustomed to. "I can see that it's _food_, Malfoy. Why are you _giving_ it to me?"

"You need to eat, Potter."

At that, the Gryffindor's eyes drifted back to the surface of the lake. They fixed on the water, the trees beyond. Anywhere, it seemed, but on Draco Malfoy. Finally, he spoke. "I thought you love to see me miserable?"

"I do, Potter," Draco said. "Make no mistake. But I do not particularly enjoy watching you waste away. Your clothes are practically falling off of you. It is simply not tasteful."

For some reason, that seemed to be all the prodding the raven needed. He lifted the apple to his mouth and took a reserved nibble. All reservations were thrown to the wind, and the rest of the apple disappeared in a matter of seconds. The core was tossed aside, onto the frost covered grass to either decompose or be found by some variety of animal. The bread and cheese were devoured in half the time.

"Ah, so you _were_ hungry, eh, Potter?" Draco smirked triumphantly.

The Gryffindor turned his eyes to the blonde, and Draco's smirk fell. The change in the boy's eyes had been instantaneous. He had gone from Potter, to Harry, in only a matter of seconds. Draco wanted to be angry at Harry for showing such weakness, such uncertainty, but he couldn't find it in himself to be so _heartless. _Despite what people thought of him.

"Yes," Harry rasped. "I was hungry."

For a long moment, Draco just stared at him, his gray-blue eyes steely with calculation, stormy with restrained concern. Because Draco Malfoy was indeed concerned about Harry Potter. Harry Potter wasn't eating, Harry Potter, now that Draco was close enough to see the bags under his eyes, obviously wasn't sleeping, and Harry Potter looked so very pained.

Harry Potter was wasting away, right before Draco Malfoy's eyes.

"Potter, how long has it been since you've eaten a decent meal?" Draco asked, crossing his arms and shifting his weight, thanking Merlin that Harry wasn't familiar with his nervous habit.

"I don't know," Harry responded dully. His eyes ghosted back to the glassy surface of the lake.

"The very fact that you don't know means it has been an inappropriately long amount of time, Potter!" Draco snapped, and to his cold, unpleasant surprise, Harry flinched. The show of fear left an uncomfortable knot in the pit of the Slytherin's stomach, but he continued. "You cannot keep doing this to yourself, you stubborn fool! You are wasting away! You've become nothing but a waif, Potter, an urchin! It is completely unbecoming, and I demand that you stop!"

Thin shoulders tensed, and Draco didn't even have to see the Gryffindor's eyes for the transition to be obvious. Potter was back. Draco felt a surge of relief. If his harsh words were all that Potter needed, then he wouldn't be disappointed.

"Honestly, it's bloody ridiculous! It's a plea for attention. You're feeling sorry for yourself again, wonder boy."

"Stop it, Malfoy," the raven responded, his voice hard and dangerous. Draco still couldn't see his eyes. Potter remained stiff, facing the lake.

"Oh, that's right. You hate those nicknames, right? Well, excuse me, Boy-Who-Lived, for not bending to every whim of the savior of the wizarding world."

"Malfoy, _stop_," Potter hissed. Draco sneered. The boy's protests were only encouraging him, merely feeding the flames of his determination.

"So, Golden Boy, you feel like fighting back now? Why should I listen to a single word you say? Or perhaps this really isn't a plea for attention. Maybe you're emaciating yourself because you know you're right in thinking that you can't defeat the Dark Lord, and you know very well you're going to let everyone down, and you just want to waste away and _die_ before that happens!"

And then Draco felt himself being lifted from the ground and flung through the air by a burst of magic the likes of which he'd never felt. He was nothing but a rag doll in the grasp of this power. His body broke the still waters of the Black Lake, and the sting of the icy element jarred him to realization. The magic was Harry Potter's, and it had made itself known because Draco had abruptly found the truth in the boy's actions. As his vision blackened around the edges, he became certain of his accidental conclusion.

The Boy-Who-Lived wanted to die.

…

Severus was stalking through the entrance hall, returning to the dungeons after a little chat with Dumbledore. Voldemort was mobilizing. More and more Death Eaters resurfaced each day, and the Dark Lord grew increasingly ambitious. Raids were planned, muggle-borns were threatened. The wizarding world was once again becoming a terribly dangerous place, and it was becoming so very, very quickly.

The potions master was so entangled in his dark thoughts that he barely heard the main door creak ponderously open, and barely felt the draft of cold air that whisked its way through the entrance hall, skirting at the hems of his robes. But the sensations did, in fact, reach him, and he turned his black gaze to the doors. Severus was, for a second time, caught off-guard by his godson. Or rather, by the unconscious body of his godson, being dragged into the castle by none other than his least favorite Gryffindor. The man made his way to the boys in a few quick strides, because Potter was trembling all over, clearly about to buckle under the weight of his burden. This, Severus wasn't surprised by. He already knew Potter was neglecting sleep, and recently he'd noticed that the foolish boy was giving his meals the same treatment.

"Professor!" Potter gasped as Severus scooped Draco into his arms, relieving the frail teen of his task. "I...I don't know what happened! We were just talking, and then-!"

"Silence!" Severus demanded, his sharp tone slicing Potter's words to a halt. "Follow." He strolled off, easily carrying Draco, and expecting the other to obey without question. The unsteady, weary, yet hurried footsteps behind him served to let him know that his expectations were being met.

Severus kept a brisk pace, because his godson was soaking wet and shivering, and the group of three arrived at the Hospital Wing within a few short minutes. Draco was deposited safely on a bed and left to Madame Pomfrey's able care. Then Severus took Harry's bicep in a firm grip and dragged him over to the windows on the opposite side of the ward. He guided him down to sit on the edge of a cot, and then sat on the adjacent bed. Leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, he observed the restless spawn of his deceased arch enemy.

"Look at me, Mr. Potter," he said, and as if he were under the Imperius Curse, Harry's eyes instantly jumped to meet Severus'. "What happened?" Really, he didn't need the boy to tell him anything. He was already digging through his memories, effortlessly locating the incident and viewing it within seconds. Seeing the Golden Boy's hopelessness while interacting with Draco made Severus even more inclined to believe his humble plight.

"I d-don't know, Professor," his student was stammering. It was the first time Severus recalled hearing the outspoken child tongue-tied. "W-we were talking, and I got angry, because he w-was being a bloody g-git and all...and then everything whited out for a second, and w-when I could see again, he was twenty feet away and...l-landing in the Black Lake."

Severus nodded. "I appreciate you being so forthcoming with me, Mr. Potter, despite our animosity." His statement was received with shock, as expected, until the boy schooled his features and nodded in return. "It seems that, in your anger, you performed some surprisingly powerful wand-less magic. Do you feel weakened?"

Hesitation, and then another nod. Severus arched an eyebrow.

"Do you believe you feel weakened due to the magic, or simply because you have not eaten or slept properly for weeks?" he drawled.

Harry's eyes hardened. "I told you in detention, sir. I'm sleeping just fine."

"Let us say, for a moment, Mr. Potter, that I was inclined to believe that," Severus said, his derisive tone earning him a spark of the famous defiance that he was so used to seeing in those emerald eyes. Severus smirked and continued. "It still does not address the issue of your severe lack of appetite."

"I eat," Potter responded shortly, obviously not pleased with the direction this conversation was taking. "Aren't we supposed to be talking about Malfoy?"

"I know everything I need to know about the situation," Severus replied. "Now, I wish to discuss _you_. Do enjoy it while it lasts, because I know how very hard you strive for everyone's approval and attention, and how very miserable you must be when you do not receive mine."

The raven ground his teeth together and remained stubbornly silent.

"Your _appetite_, Potter," Severus reminded with a snarl.

"I haven't been hungry," Harry muttered. Anxiety suddenly dominated the boy's posture. He slouched, his hands hanging between his knees and his fingers fretfully lacing and unlacing, twisting and untwisting.

"_Why_?" Severus prompted. He was not about to accept such a base answer when he knew he was finally wearing the boy down.

"I haven't been feeling well."

This time, the professor said nothing, hoping the heavy silence would spur the Gryffindor onward.

"I really haven't been sleeping, Professor," Harry blurted. "I keep having nightmares. I put a silencing charm around my bed now so I don't wake Ron and the others. I can't go back to sleep after. I'm up half the night. I can't concentrate in any of my classes, _especially _not yours, and I get nauseous when I eat. I'm a wreck, sir."

Severus' lips thinned in displeasure. "That you are, Potter. From now on, you will eat sufficient meals, at least twice a day, and if I happen to see that you neglect to eat, I will dock points from your house. You will receive three doses of Dreamless Sleep from me every week, and you will report to me for tutoring should it prove too difficult for you to make up the dismal school work you have been doing for the past few weeks. Am I understood, Mr. Potter?"

The boy blinked. "Yes, Professor."

Severus stood. "Come to me this evening for your potion," he said, then turned and hastened out of the room with a billow of his robes. He left a very confused Harry Potter in his wake.


	4. Chapter 3

**(Yes, yes, I know. It took me forever to update. I really am sorry, but life has kept me quite busy.)**

**Disclaimer: I obviously do not own Harry Potter.  
**

...**  
**

Harry watched the sleeping Draco, and pictured this situation in reverse. He imagined, weeks ago, the blond Slytherin sitting in the same chair that he occupied now, watching _him_ sleep. It was a strange thing, how Harry was able to hate Draco so intensely, yet be so genuinely concerned for his well being.

And Harry really _was_ concerned. Somehow, with a burst of adrenaline-fueled, wild magic, he'd knocked Malfoy through the air and into the Black Lake. Considering it was November and there was snow on the ground, the water was most likely freezing. Draco could have been seriously injured, or could have fallen ill.

Guilt. The boy felt so very guilty for attacking Draco, whether he'd meant to or not. But he was also confused. Draco had spurred Harry's anger by pressuring him about his eating habits. Snape had raised concerns about the same thing. Harry was not at all used to people being so violently insistent that he take care of himself, and he was shocked and slightly disturbed that his two least favorite Slytherins were the ones to be so insistent. Yet, he also appreciated their worry, in some strange way.

Harry leaned forward, resting his chin in his hands, his green eyes studying Draco's face. The high cheekbones, the sharp chin, the perfectly angled eyebrows, and the hair, so blond that when the sun caught it in just the proper way, it was almost white. Those features, to Harry, normally seemed so fierce, and almost threatening. But now, while his nemesis slept, he appeared completely relaxed.

Draco hadn't woken yet. Harry had left the night before, acquiring a Dreamless Sleep from Snape, as he'd been ordered. His sleep had been peaceful, but from the moment he'd opened his eyes, his worry for his Slytherin peer had been racing through his veins. Currently, he was supposed to be in DADA, but he wanted to stay with Draco, and that toad Umbridge hated him, anyway.

Harry's fingers brushed over the somewhat raw scabs on the back of his hand. _I must not tell lies._ He was glad Snape hadn't asked about those. He was far too proud to admit that Umbridge was, basically, torturing him.

Draco stirred, and Harry was amazed that even his disoriented groans sounded dignified. He leaned forward, curling the fingers of one hand softly around the blond's pale wrist. "Hey. Malfoy? Can you hear me?"

Steely yet tired eyes peeked through fair lashes. This time, the groan was obviously irritated, and Harry knew he'd been recognized. "Potter. What...?" Another groan. "Bloody hell."

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, bloody hell. How are you feeling?" He was graced in reply by a Draco Malfoy scowl. The Gryffindor sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm probably not the first person you really want to see, but I suppose I was just a little bit concerned for you."

Draco seemed to deflate, resting back against the crisp pillows, his eyes perusing Harry's face. "What the bloody hell happened, Potter?" he mumbled.

"Well, I'm not really sure," Harry said. "I remember that I was angry, because you wouldn't stop badgering me, and then all of a sudden you were splashing into the Black Lake, going for a little swim with the giant squid..."

"Wild magic," Draco hypothesized. "You were angry, and your magic expressed your anger for you."

"It kind of felt like that," Harry agreed. "I mean, it's not like I've never done accidental magic before. But it's never been so severe. And I've never..." He stopped, glancing guiltily at Draco. "...hurt anyone before."

The snake scoffed. "You didn't hurt me, Potter. You couldn't hurt me, even if you wanted to."

Harry smiled. Bitterly. All of his guilt and worry drained away, because no matter what he did to the contrary, Draco Malfoy was still a pompous git. "Right. Well, excuse me, your highness, but I need to get to class." He stood, grabbing his bag, and didn't even glance at the Slytherin as he marched swiftly out of the Hospital Wing.

…

"Enter," Severus bit out in response to the tentative knock at the door. He was certainly not in the mood for visitors. The Dark Lord was planning, plotting, scheming, and as a result, the head of Slytherin house had experienced a rather trying day. He wanted to grade essays, and sleep. Nothing more.

The door creaked open, and whoever it was who dared to disturb him shuffled across the floor and stopped a few hesitant feet in front of his desk. "Ah, sir...?" came a voice, and Severus was forced to look up.

Harry Potter stood before him, in his office, seemingly of his own volition. That, in itself, must have been an incredible feat for the boy, one which Severus was forced to acknowledge.

"Potter," he greeted with his customary lack of interest and sprinkling of disdain. "To what do I owe the...pleasure?" He drew the word out in such a way that suggested it was most certainly not a pleasure at all.

The child gulped. "You said, sir, if I was having trouble catching up with my school work that I should...come to you."

Severus arched an eyebrow. He remembered his offer, or rather, demand, very well. But it wasn't in his nature to be easily agreeable. "Oh, did I?"

"Yes, sir, you said that you would tutor me," Harry replied. "Don't you remember?"

"Of course I remember, boy," the potions master snapped. "I am not some daft, forgetful adolescent, such as yourself." Oddly, Severus found himself regretting his tone. Harry, for an instant, withdrew completely, his eyes blank, his face hopeless, and Severus did not fail to notice. But in the next moment, the boy's expression was ablaze with resentful anger, and the professor's regret faded. Rather, he was both impressed and puzzled by the child's ability to mask his emotions in such a swift instant.

"Well, I'm so sorry for asking for help when it was offered," Potter barked. "Guess I shouldn't have bloody bothered, eh?" He turned for the door.

"Stop, Potter," Snape said, fixing his gaze on the back of the boy's head. "You are correct. Help was offered, and it shall be given." Harry turned, meeting Severus' eyes. "Sit, Potter," the man said, gesturing to a desk beside his own, reserved for students receiving tutoring, or serving detention.

The raven's eyes flashed from the desk, back to Severus, and back to the desk before he dropped his bag and sat. "It's Harry."

"Pardon?" Severus asked, turning in his chair to face the child.

"Harry." Emerald eyes sparked with a melancholy sort of light. "My name is Harry. Not Potter, and definitely not..._boy_."

"You have a special aversion to the title 'boy'?" Severus queried, with minimal curiosity. While he had the Gryffindor in the near vicinity, for an extended period of time, he might as well try and unravel a few of the mysteries behind his student's mindset.

"Well, I definitely don't like it," Harry muttered, pulling out a roll of parchment—which seemed to be an incomplete essay—and a quill and ink.

"Why not?" Severus kept his reply simple. The less he spoke, the more he was encouraging the adolescent to fill the silence with his own words.

"My uncle calls me boy," Harry answered, surprising Severus with his willingness to answer. "It's just really...demeaning."

"You are not fond of your relatives, Harry?" the professor asked, paying close attention to his tone, and making sure to address the child properly. They were having a civilized conversation, and Harry was speaking of his home life, and his feelings, and for some reason, Severus did not really mind. In fact, he wished for it to continue.

"Understatement," Harry snorted. "They're the worst. They're hardly even family."

Severus fell silent for a moment. Vernon and Petunia Dursley. Well, he certainly remembered Petunia. She was a foul specimen of human being; Severus had despised her from the moment he'd met her, all those years ago. He had no idea how such a woman could be Lily's sister. Kind, sweet, caring Lily...Severus shook himself from his thoughts, and was prepared to urge the boy on. But there was no need.

"They kept me in a broom cupboard, you know," Harry said. "Until the summer holiday after first year, because they were afraid Dumbledore would get mad, and they didn't want to deal with any 'freakishness' in their perfect little lives. Of course, I'm a freak, so they never wanted to deal with _me_."

"Never say that, Potter," Severus hissed, obviously shocking the child with his tone.

"H-Harry..." the raven still managed to stammer. "It's Harry...what should I not be saying, Professor?"

"I never want to hear the word freak spoken in reference to yourself," Severus said, his voice even, but dangerous. "You are not a freak. Wizards are not freaks. Magic is not _freakish_. Your relatives are _swine. _Do you understand me?"

"I...yes, sir, I understand," the boy said.

"Have they ever hit you?" Severus asked. The thought had crawled to the front of his mind during his tirade, sickening him. He had already misjudged the boy's character quite seriously. If he had missed signs of an abusive home life, simply because he'd let memories of James Potter cloud his judgment, the man would have a hard time forgiving himself. Or, for that matter, forgiving Albus Dumbledore, who should have been keeping closer tabs on the child.

"What?" Harry squeaked, his voice rising nearly an octave.

Severus reached out and gripped Harry's shoulders. "Have they ever hit you?" he repeated, a touch of uncharacteristic urgency in his tone. "Do they neglect to feed you? Are you treated inappropriately?"

"W-well, sometimes when I misbehave or don't do my chores well enough, they lock me in my room or my cupboard without meals," Harry gasped frantically. "And...Uncle Vernon might have given me a smack or two before, but it wasn't anything I didn't deserve..."

"Harry, listen to me," Severus said seriously. "No one deserves that. Especially not you. You've done nothing to bring on their wrath except exist. You have been treated horribly, and I will not allow that treatment to continue."

"Sir...?" the boy said, looking painfully confused.

"I will speak with Professor Dumbledore," Severus continued. "You will not be returning to your relatives, Harry. I cannot, on good conscience, allow you to be mistreated and abused any longer."

"I'm not abused," Harry replied instantly, his tone heated, defensive.

"Your relatives starve and beat you," Severus snarled. "You, Potter, are _abused_."

"No!" Harry snapped. He stood, knocking over his ink well, and glared down at his professor. The fire in the boy's eyes made Severus realize that he was quickly losing control of the situation, and he needed to gain it back. "I'm not abused! You're overreacting!"

"I assure you, I'm not," the man replied calmly. "You are _under-_reacting. P...Harry, I am merely trying to help."

"Why should I accept your help?" the young wizard bit out. "Why should you even want to help me? You hate me, remember? I don't understand why you keep trying to...to reach out to me when all you see when you look at me is my 'arrogant, lazy, pig of a father'! Leave me alone!"

The boy's footsteps pounded across the floor, and the door slammed as he left the room. Severus rubbed at his temples. "Damn it, Potter..." he mumbled. His teeth grated against each other in aggravation. The Gryffindor Golden Boy was in complete denial. But Severus wasn't going to give up.

…

"The usual, Mr. Potter. _I must not tell lies._"

Two hours later, Harry trudged out of Umbridge's office, loosely cradling his sore and bleeding hand against his chest. He hated that toad of a woman. _Hated_ her. And his time with her was worse than usual, due to the drizzle of unpleasant emotions that lingered after he'd released his torrential anger on Snape. He did feel guilty for that. He wasn't abused. But he was mistreated. Snape had only been concerned.

That, of course, was disturbing in itself. The attentions of the two slimiest Slytherin snakes were not as unwanted as they should have been, as of late. Harry almost felt as if they were the only ones who really _cared_.

"Potter, what in Merlin's name are you doing out after curfew?"

Speak of the devil.

"I don't think that's any of your bloody business, Malfoy," Harry responded, but his tone lacked any real disdain. He was tired. Bone weary, really. He just wanted to go back to Gryffindor tower, collapse into bed, take the Dreamless Sleep potion Snape had provided, and rest. Instead, he turned to glare, without conviction, at his nemesis. "So bugger off."

"Not very nice, are we," Draco sneered, then cackled.

"Why are you out of the Hospital Wing?" Harry snapped.

"Oh, well, I guess I lucked out, Potter," the blond replied smoothly, smirking. "Your little stunt didn't even leave me with a cold. I'm perfectly fine."

"You're not fine," Harry said. "You're still a bastard. Get your attitude checked, Malfoy." With that, he turned and stalked away.

…

Draco Malfoy watched as Harry Potter set a brisk pace down the corridor. His eyes were sharp, suspicious. He muttered to himself.

"What the bloody hell happened to his hand?"


	5. Chapter 4

(Thank you to my beta, my super awesome friend, getcokeagain!)

**Disclaimer: Clearly, I do not own Harry Potter.**

**...  
**

"His hand, Draco?" Severus said, regarding his godson over the arch of his knuckles.

"Yes, Sev, his hand," Draco said, his sharp features twisted to an expression of reluctant concern, a concern he wished he wasn't feeling. He was worried about the Gryffindor Golden Boy. No, that was wrong. He was worried about _Harry_. "There were these…scabs. They looked new, fairly fresh. I think there were words, but I couldn't make them out. He was trying to hide it."

"Potter, with an injury he wishes to hide," Severus drawled. "Seems as if he may have acquired it in one of his ridiculous Gryffindor stunts, and is simply embarrassed to show that he is not, in fact, invincible. I would not concern yourself with it if I were you, Draco."

The young Slytherin was absolutely outraged. "Are you honestly going to hold on to those beliefs when you _know_, perfectly well, that you're _wrong_? Potter isn't the boy you have all these pre-conceived notions about, and you know it! You're too stubborn and too proud! I thought you'd already put your prejudices aside?"

Severus' eyes became sharp, and Draco ended his tirade, crossing his arms and shifting his weight nervously. "You would do well to watch your tone, little snake," the dark man warned. After a pause, he conceded, "No matter how correct you may be. I am aware that I was wrong about Mr. Potter, Draco, and I may still be allowing this image of _James_, the swine, to cloud my judgment. Though, yesterday evening while I was tutoring him, he revealed other aspects of his character that I was…severely incorrect about."

"Like what?" Draco asked, pale lips turning down at the edges.

"His relatives are not…satisfactory, in their treatment of him," Severus answered vaguely, but Draco was sharp.

"Do they hurt him, Sev?" he murmured. "Is it bad?"

"It is not good, Draco," Snape supplied. "It is an issue I will be addressing with the headmaster, as soon as I can get the Potter boy to cooperate with me. He is in a rather deep state of denial."

"Harry," Draco corrected, taking Severus off-guard. "His name is Harry, you know. If you're going to try and be friendly with him, you might as well call him by his name."

Severus, somewhat amused, recalled his interaction with the Gryffindor the previous night. "True, Draco, very true." He stood, putting a hand on his godson's shoulder in as comforting a gesture as he could manage. "I will speak with Harry about his hand. Do not fret. Now, I believe you should be getting to breakfast, should you not?"

The blond gave his godfather a fleeting smile, then turned and strode off, his shoulders back, his walk straight and tall, with purpose.

...

Severus watched the raven-haired teen at breakfast, a scowl on his already fierce features. The insufferable child had not touched his food. Severus had given him specific instruction to _eat_, at least two full meals a day, and so far, Potter had not partaken of a single morsel. It was highly irritating. For all of the qualities the boy no longer possessed in Snape's eyes, his persistent disobedience was not one of them. No, he was not entirely arrogant, and no, he was not spoiled, but it was true that Harry Potter did not listen to simple instructions! This, of course, could account for his abysmal potion brewing skills. Yet in the case of Potter not eating…something had to be done.

"Albus," the professor drawled conversationally. "It seems that Potter does not have a particularly ravenous appetite, as of late." He was sure to use his customary tone of disgust when speaking about Harry around the other professors, even Dumbledore. They were not yet aware of his improving relationship with the Gryffindor. He still wasn't entirely thrilled with learning that the headmaster had ignored the Golden Boy's plight for all these years. How had the old man turned a blind eye to the boy's horrid relatives and dangerous home life? Had he simply not cared at all? Severus was sickened by the thought.

"Oh?" Albus acknowledged lightly. "I hadn't noticed, Severus. Perhaps he's feeling a touch under the weather. Winter is starting to take hold, after all." The bearded wizard gave Severus a slight smile, his eyes twinkling infuriatingly behind his half-moon spectacles.

"Perhaps," Severus agreed off-handedly, turning his attention back to Potter. The child was absent-mindedly pushing his food around on his plate, decimating it with his fork, turning it into unrecognizable slop.

And that was what Harry Potter had become. Decimated. Unrecognizable. A shadow of his former self. And Severus Snape could not bear witness to it any longer.

...

"Harry?" Hermione's concerned voice prodded, gently. "Harry, you should really eat something."

"Yeah, mate," Ron muttered, eying the repulsive mixture on his best friend's plate. "I mean…what did the food ever do to you?"

"Huh?" Harry blinked his emerald eyes in confusion. "Sorry, what did you say?"

Ron and Hermione shared a look. "You're not eating," the bushy haired girl insisted.

"Again," the Weasley added simply.

"Oh," Harry responded dumbly, glancing down at the disaster on his plate, seeming shocked by the state his food was in. "I guess I'm just not hungry, or I'm distracted or something. Don't worry. I'll eat later."

"Harry…" Hermione started in again, but quickly closed her mouth as a shadow fell over the raven-haired boy. "Oh, good morning, Professor," the girl said hurriedly. Ron's lips were curled in displeasure, and he glowered at the figure behind Harry. The latter, curious, looked up. His eyes were met with the stoic yet irritated face of his least favorite professor.

"Mr. Potter," Snape drawled. "I do believe you've neglected to report to the morning detention I assigned you."

Harry was instantly on the defensive. His eyes sharpened and he turned in his seat to face Snape, his tone one of adolescent outrage. "But I didn't-!"

"Enough, Potter!" the dark man growled. "My office. Now." He grabbed the hood of Harry's robes and hauled him to his feet, giving him a light shove in the direction of the doors.

"Don't touch me!" Harry snapped, glaring sharply at Snape. He clenched his teeth, cheeks flushing lightly. The Great Hall had fallen silent, as student and teacher alike watched the altercation. Harry hated having all those eyes on him, studying him, judging him. He hated the spotlight. This time, or course, he'd brought it upon himself. And he could easily get himself out of it, this tense, awkward moment. Ducking his head, Harry hurried from the Great Hall. With a heavy, long-suffering sigh, Severus Snape followed him.

...

Severus' long strides easily allowed him to catch up with the moody Golden Boy, who was hastening down the corridor. He was headed toward the dungeons, so at least he was following instructions…for once. From his vantage point, slightly behind the child, Severus could easily see the tired angle of his shoulders, the way his robes hung off of his frame a little more loosely than usual. His frame itself was small, very small. He was certainly the smallest of the fifth year boys. There was no arguing that. Severus bitterly recalled James being rather tall, and dear Lily had been of average height. Potter's stature came down to ill-treatment.

And once again, Severus felt anger toward Albus Dumbledore, the man who had placed the boy with those insufferable, rotten muggles. The man who had sent him back there, year after year, for two months of summer holiday that were clearly unbearable for the boy. How could anyone condemn a child to such treatment? Even Severus was not that heartless.

The pair walked side by side, the entire trip silent except for the sound of their footsteps echoing off the stone floors. When they reached their destination, Severus opened the door to his office and stepped aside. "In, Potter," he said, and the boy obeyed. Severus closed the door and strolled past Harry, to the opposite end of the office, where he opened a second door and herded the Gryffindor through.

"Professor…?" Harry questioned, observing the dark but comfortable sitting room they had emerged in. The boy's anger seemed to have calmed. This was a relief to the potions professor, who knew there was still another battle ahead.

"These are my private quarters, Potter," the man enlightened him. "Sit." He gestured to a brown leather couch, positioned in front of a large fireplace next to a wing-backed armchair of the same material.

Harry sat, studying the rest of the room with unchecked curiosity. The walls were stone, but it didn't matter, as they could hardly be seen past the towering bookshelves that lined them. Contrary to what one might have expected of the personal chambers of the head of Slytherin house, there was no green and silver to be found. A small, round coffee table was positioned in front of the couch and armchair. Where there were breaks in the bookshelves, there were doors, presumably leading to other rooms of the chambers. Harry hadn't even realized Snape had left the room until he emerged from one of these doors. He strolled over and set a tray of simple breakfast foods on the coffee table. Toast, eggs, jam, grapes, and a glass of pumpkin juice.

"Eat," Severus instructed.

The Gryffindor looked up at him. "Professor…?" he asked again, sounding even more confused than before. "I thought you said I had detention. Which I know was a lie, but still…"

"Stop asking so many questions and eat, Potter," the man growled.

"It's Harry," the child reminded petulantly. "And I'm not hungry, Professor."

"Nonetheless, you foolish boy, you must eat," Snape scolded. "Do you not recall me instructing you to eat at least two meals a day?" He pointed at the tray. "Eat. I want the breakfast finished."

Harry studied the food for a moment before taking a piece of toast. He began with a small nibble, and then quickly devoured the sustenance. A second piece of toast followed, then the eggs, the grapes, and finally, the pumpkin juice. Severus sat in his chair and watched, bemused. "It seems you were hungry after all, Harry. Why did you not simply eat your breakfast in the Great Hall, with the other students?"

The boy's shoulders rose in a shrug. "I don't know, Professor. I just didn't feel much like eating, just then." Harry's chapped lower lip was captured between his teeth as his eyes flickered nervously to Snape. "I'm sorry, sir. For storming out like that yesterday. I suppose I just lost my temper, is all."

Severus' eyebrow rose. "Oh? I suppose you did, Harry." The boy flinched, and the professor sighed. "Don't let it trouble you, Harry. Admittedly, I understand. You have been through much." The man was disgusted by how awfully sentimental he was sounding. Still, though he was the dreaded greasy git of the dungeons, he was not inhuman. He knew this child, this mere boy who at an unbelievably young age had had a terrible destiny thrust upon him, was suffering. And Harry was not only James' son. He was Lily's. Severus had made a promise to Lily, and as he studied his student's troubled face, his repentant eyes, he saw more of the woman he'd loved in him than of his nemesis. He owed it to Lily to treat the boy well. And he owed it to Harry. The last thing this child needed was another enemy; to Severus, that was becoming clear as day.

Harry cast his eyes downward. "Thank you, Professor," he murmured. "I know you don't need to be this nice to me."

"But there is hardly a reason for cruelty, either, Harry," Severus said, so softly that his tone was almost _gentle_. He shuddered inwardly at the thought. _He's Lily's son_, he reminded himself.

Somehow, his words drew a small, slightly cheeky smile from the boy. "Be careful, Professor," he said. "You're almost starting to sound like a decent human being."

Severus scowled, though the expression wasn't really genuine. "Never again accuse me of such a thing, Harry. I will never be a decent human being. You would do well to accept that now."

The raven-haired boy looked stunned for a moment, and then burst into uproarious laughter. Truly, Severus was sure he'd never heard Harry laugh so genuinely, not even with Weasley and Granger, not even when those miscreant twins ran amuck with one of their disruptive-yet, admittedly, rather clever-practical jokes. "You…you just made a joke, Professor!" Harry gasped through his chuckles. "I…I never thought I would hear you make a joke!"

"Despite popular belief, I do have a soul, child," Snape said dryly. He waited for Harry's laughter to die down before broaching the next subject of discussion.

"Let me see your hand," he ordered, without preamble. For a moment, the Gryffindor tensed. Then he offered his right hand, showing pale, clean flesh. "The other hand, Harry," Severus coaxed, and sure enough, his student hesitated. Finally, he extended his arm, pulling back the sleeve of his robe to expose his left hand. The appendage was wrapped painstakingly with white gauze. Miss Granger's work, surely. Severus knew the boy was far too stubborn to go and see Pomfrey for anything short of a fatal wound. Carefully, the head of Slytherin took hold of Harry's hand and removed the gauze, unwinding it, layer by layer. He set the bandaging on the coffee table before turning to study the injured hand that Draco had seemed so very concerned about.

_I must not tell lies._

Anger welled up inside of Severus, but he controlled it well, filing it away to be dealt with later. At this moment, Harry was of the most importance. The child had bowed his head, messy black hair shadowing his eyes.

"Harry," Severus said, coaxingly. "Who did this to you?"


End file.
